The Final Game
by Bit-Fairytale
Summary: Slight AU, in which Effie Trinket learns that she is to escort once more, in a final Hunger Games consisting of the Capitol's children. Spoilers, and a possible bit of Haymitch/Effie. Reviews are always appreciated, of course.
1. Chapter 1

Calico is still grinning at me as I finish my last mouthful of pasta.

"What is it?" I ask, pushing my plate away nervously. We'd been having lunch together, an arrangement that had become almost routine, and at some point in the conversation she had said that she had something important to tell me, a statement which had led to her staring at me until I relented, and asked what it was.

"I know who you can date." She seems to think that the announcement of this alone is worthy of applause.

"I wasn't aware that I was looking for a date."

"Well, Effie, you need one. You're getting far too old to spend the majority of your life single."

"I'm not _old_," I retort, taking the dessert menu from the stand.

"You will be soon. Do you want to know who you're dating, or not?"

"Fine," I sigh "Who are you so very sure I shall date?"

"Cyan Metril!" Calico squealed, and clapped her hands together.

And I suppose I could. Cyan is acceptably wealthy, charming, rather handsome, and, unlike me, he still has a job. It could only move me higher up on the social scale, I'm sure, and I'd rather like to be fussed over.

Then again, I don't think I'm particularly attracted to Cyan, and I know he isn't to me.

"I think not" I say, beckoning a waitress over and ordering a sundae for us both. Perhaps I could become a waitress. This is a pleasant café, and has the loveliest decorations.

But waitressing feels like such a step down.

"Oh, Effie, you two could be _perfect_ together!" Calico seems truly let down by my refusal, "Why on earth would you refuse him?"

"I'm simply trying to settle back into my home" I reply, "I'm not looking for a relationship with anyone."

I'm not sure how true this is, although I am indeed trying to settle back into my old Capitol routine. A relationship in itself, however, is not a possibility I would brush aside completely. A relationship with Cyan is, though.

A change in topics of conversation seems needed, and as Calico is happy to discuss her plans to buy a house with her partner for hours on end, I ask her about that. There is a slight resentment in her voice as she mentions how hard it is to find a building that is still standing after the war. It's not an unusual tone nowadays, many citizens seem discontent at how swiftly their life has been torn apart, but it's one that rather worries me. I don't like the feeling that the war isn't quite over yet. I didn't like imprisonment and the cold cell that went with it, I didn't like District 13, or the glares the rebels gave me, and I didn't like the bombings, and the panic, and the feeling that I no longer had control over anything. I've been back at home for a month now, and I can feel myself slipping into my old routine. It's comforting, and I don't want things to change anymore.

We bid each other goodbye after lunch, before I walk home, still feeling a little too anxious to be happy.

A week passes, and I am sitting on the sofa, drinking tea and flipping idly through the phone book. I suppose really I should be looking for a place of employment, but I have enough money to get by for the time being, and I have yet to find a job that doesn't feel shamefully lower down than being an escort was.

Besides, I haven't spoken to a friend since lunch with Calico, and I'm feeling dreadfully lonely.

Although my phonebook is full of names, I don't feel comfortable calling most of my old friends out of the blue. It feels like I haven't seen them for years now and quite often I can't recall their faces. Calico is looking for a house today, Venia is spending time with her family, and Octavia is shopping with Madris, leaving me with nobody I could meet up with. Surely there must be somebody I can speak to. I look through it again, feeling the usual pang of sadness when I see Cinna and Portia's names, hoping to find someone to call.

I could ring Katniss and Peeta, I suppose, although I've already offered my congratulations for their upcoming wedding.

Haymitch?

Well, there's nothing stopping me. I haven't spoken to him since I moved back, and I do rather miss him at times, although I can't comprehend why.

I dial his number, silently swearing that I will kill him if he doesn't answer.

"Who is it?" His voice is slightly slurred, but I feel too relieved that he's answered to reprimand him for being drunk so early on in the day.

"Haymitch, it's me, Effie."

"Eff!"

"Yes. I hadn't spoken to you in a while, and I thought 'well, now I'm settled in…'"

"Effie, Effie, shut up. You need to come down and see me."

"Why on earth do I need to do that?" I ask, unsure whether to be flattered by the invitation, or irritated at how rudely it had been given.

"Because I have something to tell you, and you probably shouldn't hear it over the phone. Bad news, I guess. Surprise news. Stuff that Coin left ."

"What is it?"

"Like I said, it isn't the sort of thing you'd appreciate hearing over the phone."

"Haymitch, I'm sat down, and I'm perfectly calm. I think I can handle it."

"Well…" Haymitch said, and there was a pause as I heard him pour himself another glass of liquor, "it involves you taking up your role as an escort again."

"But I thought…"

"Like I said," Haymitch interrupted me yet again, "Come over as soon as you can."


	2. Chapter 2

I arrive at Haymitch's the next day, and perch on the edge of his sofa as he paces up and down the room. His house is as messy as ever, and I'm almost certain I spotted a few stray geese in his backyard. He pours me a drink, and I refuse it as politely as I can.

"It's lovely to see you again, Haymitch," I say finally, desperate to break the silence.

"Mhmm." He nods vaguely, waving a hand in my direction, "Listen, Effie. You remember what I said yesterday? About you being an escort again?"

"Of course." It seems odd how much I dread the prospect, considering how inferior I consider the jobs that are available to me back in the Capitol. I suppose I had simply enjoyed the glamour of being an escort, and the respect and attention that I had gained from it. It was exciting, and pleasing, and it had paid very well. Now that escorting would gather very little respect from others, and certainly not give me the sort of glamour that those associated with the Games had - as that glamour didn't exist anymore – I'm not sure if I want to do it ever again. The job itself had often been taxing, and upsetting.

And becoming an escort again seems like taking a step backwards, a step closer to the war.

"Well, they want you to be an escort again. I don't think it's really going end up being a choice you get to make." Haymitch is pouring himself another drink now, and won't look me in the eye.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Well," Haymitch began, standing up and pacing again "There were plans back in 13, when Coin was alive. For another Games, a final one. I sort of assumed that they were abandoned after she died, but I guess not. They're building the Arena already. And you're escorting again."

"But surely….you'd all been fighting _against_ the Games, hadn't you?" A small part of me wanted say that _we'd_ been fighting against the Games, but it hardly seemed appropriate. I had done very little in District 13, and was hardly considered a rebel. I don't think I really consider myself one, either, although I can't say I wanted the Capitol to win. I wanted it to end. I wanted the war to be over, and for everyone I liked to live, and go home, and be happy. I didn't want to stay in 13, and give up my nice clothes and fight, but I didn't want to go back to the Capitol and be sent to prison, or for Katniss and Peeta and Haymitch to die. I don't suppose that's a position which gathers much sympathy from either side.

But now the war doesn't feel as if it's ended at all.

"We were fighting against the Games" Haymitch says, and stops pacing. "And the Capitol too. And, apparently, several people wanted to see Capitol citizens….punished…for the harm they'd done."

I'm a Capitol citizen, but I don't think now is a good time to point it out.

"So…what are they going to do?" I ask, although I think I already know, and don't like it one bit.

"One more Games…with the reaping picking out 24 children from the Capitol. Children related to those who held the most power. Taste of their own medicine." He looks at me and sighs, dragging his hand through his hair. "People were calling for a mass execution of Capitol citizens. In comparison, this is pretty mild."

I had known, I suppose, but hearing it out loud is worse. I clasp my hands together, and stare at the wall opposite me. I wonder if anyone I know could be reaped. I don't have children, something I'm thanking high heavens for now, but I know people who do. How do they decide whose children are eligible for the Reaping? How am I expected to live amongst people when I'll soon be sending their children to their deaths?

I won't cry. I won't.

"Eff? Effie, are you okay?" Haymitch moves to sit down next to me, and I find it impossible to look at him. I stare down at my hands instead, still trying to fight back tears.

I try to remind myself that I've done this before, that this used to be my job, that it can't be that different. But it is. Because I could have walked past these children in the street, they could be my friend's children. Because the Games led up to the war, and the war is over now, and I don't want anything to bring it back. Because now there won't be a single person in Panem who doesn't resent me for my association with the Games.

Haymitch sits next to me in silence for a few minutes, before getting up and pouring me a glass of water.

"Here, drink this. Then we'll get you back on the train home, okay?"

I take the water and sip it as he finishes his own drink.

"Come back and talk if you need to. Or phone, whatever." He says, and I nod in reply. "Right, come on then. I'll walk you to the train station."

I first remember watching the Games when I was around 5 years old. It was the second Quarter Quell, the year Haymitch won. My parents sent me out when they feared something gruesome was about to happen, but I remember standing outside just the room, hearing screams and knowing that the pink birds somehow had managed to kill someone. They scared me, those birds, and I sometimes had nightmares where they were chasing me through the streets of the Capitol, and I just knew I wouldn't be able to run away quickly enough. I'd wake and crawl into my parent's bed, and they would tell me that it was okay, that nobody from the Capitol could ever be killed by a pink bird, that we were special, and protected, and safe from the Reaping.

Tonight I am five years old again in my dream, and being chased through the Capitol by the same pink birds. And although I'm old enough now to know that dreams aren't real, I'm still a little shaky when I wake up. Because the Capitol isn't special anymore (or maybe it never was), and it is definitely no longer safe.


End file.
